Fading Fires
by DarkxPrince
Summary: Collection of oneshots, snippets, and prompts based on my various Unkindled characters.
1. Rite of Avowal

**Rite of Avowal**

Atarah strode through the long corridor, a veil of mist parting before her as if to guide her way. In her hands she clutched two distinctly different weapons: one was a strange combination of both sword and spear, said to have been a dragon slayer weapon of the age of the gods; the other was a sword made of pure stone, a circle protecting the hilt carved with intrinsic runes. The pilgrim from Londor at the mouth of the corridor told her that she would need this stone sword in order to marry Anri, the noble knight from Astora. Atarah wasn't entirely sure why she would need it - strange customs from strange lands, she supposed.

The fog around her thinned, though refused to lift entirely as if it knew something that she did not. Before her was a grand mausoleum, moonlight streaming in through the solitary window. Several steps led to the a small alter, where she expected to have found Anri waiting for her. Descending the main stairs into the mausoleum, Atarah searched for a sign of anyone else - yet still there was no one. She drove the tip of the swordspear into the ground at the base of the stairs, her footsteps echoing throughout the mausoleum as she drew closer to the alter.

She could finally make out something laid out upon the alter … a body? Yes, it was a body, laid out as if ready for burial. A simple white cloth covered the face, concealing the identity of the person. Yet Atarah did not need to see the face to know who the body belonged to. The elite knight's armor the body was clad in told her everything that she needed to know. She knew who this was … it was Anri of Astora.

Atarah had first met Anri on her travelers throughout the land. Much like Atarah, the young knight was on her own quest seeking the Lords of Cinder. Anri had vowed to slay Aldrich, Devourer of Gods, and Atarah had sworn to help. While their respected journeys would force them to part, they would always find their way back to the other. While Atarah would admit to caring deeply about the young female knight, she couldn't say that she _loved_ her. Given enough time, perhaps she could have … though now she'll never know.

" _This shouldn't have happened,"_ Atarah thought, collapsing to her knees. It shouldn't have come to this. She shouldn't have let this happen. How could she have let this happen? She was a Darkmoon Knight, they were meant to protect the innocent. She would not let Anri's sacrifice be in vain, it had to mean something. Whatever power she gained by this dark ritual, Atarah swore she would use it to uphold the virtue of the covenant of the Blades of the Darkmoon.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, "May the flames guide thee." Atarah raised the Sword of Avowal … and plunged it into Anri's chest.

A black mist, much like the energies of other dark sorceries, slithered along the stone blade and up her arms, settling deep within her. It was cold and hollow, as if there was a vast emptiness within her now. As the last of the magical energies borrowed within her, Atarah returned to her feet, her head bowed in silent prayer. Turning on her heal, she stalked away from the alter, returning to retrieve her swordspear.

Out of the corner of her eye, something reflected off the moonlight streaming in. The mist parted, as if it had been waiting for someone worthy enough to come along, revealing a set of armor. It was a beautiful set of brass armor, and as Atarah approached, she could see the intrinsic pattern of dark silver. Atarah had the strangest sense that this armor once belonged to a previous Darkmoon Knight … and that she had been chosen to wear it. Shedding her current armor, she quickly donned her new set.

Once again turning on her heel, Atarah returned to her swordspear at the base of the stairs. Grasping the hilt, she murmured on last prayer - vowing to redeem herself and to stay true to the virtue of being Blades of the Darkmoon - and … dropped her hand to her side. No, she couldn't wield this weapon anymore. It was for a woman she no longer was and for a time that perhaps should be left behind. She would have to find a suitable weapon on her return to Firelink Shrine. Until then, her sacred chime - the same chime that Company Commander Yorshka not only used but gifted to her - will have to serve.

Of course, that was not to say that she was completely helpless. Her faith was still strong, and the lightning she could call forth was stronger than it ever was. With that in mind, Atarah strode past the swordspear, leaving it - and the Tomb of the Darkmoon - behind her.


	2. The Black Knight

The Black Knight

During her long journey throughout the land of Lothric, Atarah thought she had seen it all. She had seen dragons, fought giants, faced off against the Abyss Watchers, and even battled the fire demons of Izalith. Yet all of that did not prepare her for the sight which greeted her upon her return to Firelink Shrine. Not that there had been anything to cause her to think that there was something out of place. Upon her approach, all had been as it always was each time she visited. Save for the figure that stood by the Firekeeper, the armor that the figure wore was immediately recognizable; she had fought enough of them throughout her travels.

What was a Black Knight doing in Firelink Shrine?! Well, whatever the reason it couldn't be anything good. Having fought against its kind before, Atarah knew how dangerous – and powerful – a Black Knight could be. Even so, she knew she had to act if she was going to protect those within the Shrine. Still, something bothered her in the back of her mind. If the Black Knight was hostile, then why wasn't it attacking? It didn't matter at the moment; she had to act before the Black Knight did. She raised Yorshka's Chime, preparing to summon forth a Sunlit Spear, only for someone's hand to gently lower it. Atarah glanced to her side to see Isasi. What was the elder pyromancer thinking?! Couldn't the older woman see the threat that was right next to the Firekeeper?!

Isasi merely shook her head, returning to her seat on one of the many steps which circled the bonfire. Against her better judgement, Atarah followed the other woman's lead, sitting on the step closest to the bonfire – making sure to keep the Black Knight within eyesight. Just now she saw that the Knight's sword and shield were sheathed upon its back. Even so, she refused to lower her guard, Black Knights were deadly with – or without – their weapons. Atarah glanced behind her at Isasi; the older woman was paging through one of her pyromancy tomes, a smile adorning her face as she too stole glances at the Black Knight and Firekeeper. Atarah frowned beneath her helm, what did the pyromancer know that she didn't?

The Firekeeper and the Black Knight moved to sit at the bonfire, and Atarah could now just make out their hushed whispering. The Black Knight paused long enough to remove its helmet, to reveal the face of a woman. The woman's dark crimson hair was held back in a bun, a few bangs hung down the one side of her face. A scar ran through the Knight's left eye, the eye itself white as if she had been blind from it for a very long time. It was strange, Atarah supposed, seeing the face beneath the helmet. Of course there was another Undead beneath that armor. Yet, what set off this Black Knight apart from the others? It was said that when Lord Gwyn linked the First Flame, the Black Knights followed him and became ash. However, because of the Undead curse, they still wandered the lands attacking anything that crossed their path. Then, was this Black Knight lucky enough to regain her sanity? Or, like Atarah, was the female knight Unkindled, cursed to seek the previous Lords of Cinder?

The Firekeeper's giggling drew Atarah out of her reverie. It was such a strange and unexpected thing she wasn't even sure she had heard it the first time. The Firekeeper giggled again, covering her mouth with her hand as if to muffle it, and Atarah could barely see the small smirk upon the Black Knight's face. Was this what Isasi had been smiling about earlier? Was there something going on between the Black Knight and the Firekeeper? And, if so, since when had that been going on? Not that Atarah thought she saw everything that went on in Firelink Shrine. She was, after all, gone for days at a time retuning only when she needed to restock her supplies or use the souls she gathered to strengthen herself.

Besides, was it so strange that another Unkindled – if the Black Knight was indeed Unkindled – looking for companionship? The journey of an Unkindled was a long and lonely one; Atarah herself would be the first to admit that she missed Anri's company from time to time. Perhaps this would even help the Firekeeper; after all, she was just as much of a prisoner as they were. Watching the Firekeeper interact with the Black Knight, Atarah was filled with hope. Which itself was such an odd feeling and found so very rarely within the decayed and rotting land that she traveled.

Atarah felt herself smile despite herself; perhaps there was still some good within this forsaken land.

* * *

Honestly I'm not a hundred percent happy with this turned out. Midway through writing it I was unsure where to go with it or how to end it and it also ended up being completely different than what I had first thought. Still, I do like how it turned out.


	3. The End of Fire

The End of Fire

The First Flame was before them, barely kept alive by the bonfire within which it was contained. Maraiam stood behind her fellow Unkindled, silently observing the other two women. Isasi knelt before the First Flame, the elder pyromancer clearly enthralled by the ancient fire. Atarah stood off to the side, head bowed as if in prayer or perhaps merely lost in her own thoughts. For all intents and purposes, their quest was done and all remained was the act of linking the first flame, of giving themselves to the First Flame to revitalize the ancient fire. At least, Maraiam assumed both Isasi and Atarah were going to link the First Flame. It was strange; Maraiam should want that too and yet …

Out of the corner of her eye, Maraiam saw a summon sign and she immediately knew to whom it belonged. Well, the Firekeeper did say that should Maraiam wish it, she would be summoned at the end. Yet, did Maraiam wish to put an end to the First Flame? Was this curse of undeath worth the power the First Flame bestowed upon them? Yet was this not the reason Lord Gwyn choose to link the Flame and prolong the Age of Fire? Maraiam had always been a loyal knight, which was why she had followed him into the fire.

She stared down at her gauntlet, memories of shining silver armor so distant as to barely be an echo. When she and her fellow Black Knights stood with Lord Gwyn as he linked the fire, the First Flame scorched their armor black. It turned them to ash, scattering them to the winds yet because of the Curse of Undeath, their bodies reformed. Unlike the others who were afflicted by the Undead Curse, who slowly lost their minds as they died and brought back to life, the Black Knights immediately turned insane. They mindlessly roamed the lands, attacking anything that crossed their path. Maraiam had no memory of how long she had been like that; certainly it had been ages, possibly even centuries since that fateful first Linking of the Fire by Lord Gwyn.

Somehow she had been lucky, having her mind and memories restored to her. Was it chance, that the Firekeeper came across her battered body. One way or another, Maraiam had made her way to Firelink Shrine, dispatching the few retched Hollows which lingered at the steps. Then there was a massive Fire Demon looming over her, its flaming axe poised to strike. Maraiam barely turned in time to defend herself, her shield took the brunt of the attack, yet still she was sent flying back. It was a long battle, yet like all others it ended with her sword through the demon's skull. The battle had taken its toll on her body and she collapsed to the ground, the Firekeeper's skirts the last thing she saw before her vision faded.

The Firekeeper tended to her wounds and nursed her back to health. How that ended with her mind and memories returning to her, Maraiam couldn't say. Perhaps there were higher powers manipulating everything and perhaps they had a plan for this lonely Knight of Gwyn. Either way, to show her gratitude, Maraiam granted the Firekeeper's request and set out to find the Lords of Cinder and to Link the First Flame. All throughout her journey, the Black Knight found herself missing the companionship of the Firekeeper, oddly drawn back to her the longer she was away from the Shrine. Was there something between her and the Firekeeper? Perhaps there was, though really only time would tell.

Not that it would matter now, not with the Linking of the Fire so close at hand. So what would happen then? Would Maraiam once again turn to ash and be forced to wander the lands as nothing more than a crazed beast? And what of the Firekeeper? With the Linking of Fire complete, would she be forced to remain within a Shrine, forced to tend to the flame and keep her vigil? Was this really the right path to take? Was linking the fire worth this curse of undeath? Yet hadn't Lord Gwyn linked the First Flame because he feared the coming age of darkness?

Was that what they were doing now? Were they letting fear rule their actions even now? And even if they did link the First Flame, kept the Age of Fire held in place, wouldn't this all repeat itself in some distant future? Would she, Atarah, and Isasi become the new Lords of Cinder, faced with an Unkindled on their own quest to link the fire? Would this cycle of linking the fire just continue on and on and on for all eternity? For the first time in her long, long life, Maraiam started to doubt everything she had believed.

" _Ashen One, if thou wishest yet for a world without fire, for an end to the linking of the fire … then call upon me. I am a Firekeeper, and I tend the flame … to the very end."_ The Firekeeper's words roared through her mind. Yes, that was what Maraiam wished for. No matter what the next age would bring, surely it was better than this endless cycle within which they were trapped. The Black Knight closed her eyes, muttering a silent prayer and steeling her resolve. Before she could summon the Firekeeper, there was something she had to do.

Maraiam stalked upon her unaware companions, drawing her sword as she did so, raising the signature blade of the Black Knights above her head. Atarah must have sensed her intention, for the Darkmoon Blade rolled away, trying to shout a warning to the elder pyromancer. Yet it was too late, by the time Isasi could react Maraiam's blade sliced into her neck. Isasi toppled over, dead before she even hit the ground, turning to ash a second later. Isasi was not dead, it would be sometime before the pyromancer awakened at a bonfire, her body reformed and born anew due to the curse which plagued the land. Maraiam had to act quickly before the elder pyromancer returned, and all this would be for naught. Maraiam spun to face Atarah, charging the other woman before she had a chance to call upon her lightning.

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted you!" Atarah yelled, blocking her attacks. The other woman certainly had earned her title as one of the Blades of the Darkmoon, yet for all her skill it wasn't enough. Atarah was formidable in her own right, yet given no room to draw upon her magic and summon forth her Sunlit Spears, it was only a matter of time. Maraiam's sword plunged into the Darkmoon Blade, the other Unkindled turning to ash as her life left her.

"I'm sorry," Maraiam muttered as she made her way back over to the Firekeeper's summon sigil. Sheathing both her sword and shield, she held her hand over the sign, the Firekeeper materializing moments later.

Together they made their way back to where the First Flame was slowly dying, kneeling before the ancient bonfire. Reaching in, the Firekeeper cradled the small flame in her hands, resting it on her lap. All around the, the light was slowly fading away, plunging them into darkness. Maraiam closed her eyes; she had already accepted whatever fate was going to befall her. Off in the distance she could hear both Atarah and Isasi trying to make their way back, it didn't matter though. It was already done; there was nothing that the other women could do now.

"The First Flame quickly fades," the Firekeeper whispered, her voice so quiet yet seemingly echoing around them. "Darkness will shortly settle, yet one day, tiny flames will dance across the darkness … like embers, linked by lords past." A silence stretched out before them for what seemed like ages, the Firekeeper's voice finally cut through it, "Ashen One, hearest thou my voice still?" Maraiam smiled beneath her helm, they would go into the new age together.

* * *

Not much to say about this one. The "End of Fire" ending for Dark Souls 3 is actually my favorite one in the game. I'm not really sure why I had Maraiam (who I headcannon as a loyal Black Knight of Gwyn) I'm not really sure, maybe it made more sense. Isasi is a pyromancer and will do anything to make sure that it remains, and Atarah is a Blade of the Darkmoon and willing to do what she believes is right. Maraiam, though, knows what happens, she's seen it before when Gwyn linked the Fire. So I think, she'd have more doubt about what they were doing. What do you think of my choice and reasons?

I hope you enjoyed reading!


	4. Calm

Atarah

Atarah sheathed her sword and fastened Yorshka's Chime to her belt, grateful that the fighting appeared to be over ... for now. If this long journey had taught her anything, it was that the dead do not stay dead for long. Behind her, Maraiam sheathed her own sword, the signature sword of the Black Knights, peeking over the other woman's shoulder. Off to the side, Atarah could hear Isasi's pyromancy flame simmer down as the older woman stopped feeding it power.

It was rare for the three women to be out at the same time, usually their respected journeys demanded that they journey alone. It was a strange occurrence indeed for all three of their interests to align. They were traveling through what was left of the Demon Ruins: that ancient place where the Flame of Chaos was formed; where demons were born; and where, it was said, that all pyromancies were first learned. Atarah could still feel the ancient magicks that the Witch of Izalith used to try and recreate the First Flame. In fact, Atarah could still see and feel the embers which burned within the ancient roots of what was once the Bed of Chaos.

So what could possibly bring the three of them down to this ancient and accursed place? As always, Isasi, being a Desert Pyromancer, was fascinated by the Flame of Chaos and wished to study all that she could. Maraiam, on the other hand, was here for far more practical reasons. Being a Black Knight, Maraiam had dealt with dozens of Chaos Demons, the female knight had sworn to carry out her ancient lord's decree to destroy all demons. And Atarah? Atarah wasn't really sure why she was down here with the other women. Perhaps she just missed the company of other people who still had their own minds.

Perhaps even, she was just looking to rekindle her faith. Of course, that begged the question; her faith in what? In herself, perhaps? In her honor and purpose within the Blades of the Darkmoon? Anri's death - and the ritual she took part in - shook her far more than she had first realized. When she had first donned this brass armor, she had thought her faith was still strong ... she had been wrong. The once mighty Sunlit Spears, which could fell dragons, dwindled to nothing more than sparks. The once magnificent Soothing Sunlight, which could fully heal those near death, barely managed to heal several cuts.

Was she really expecting to find anything to renew her faith down here in the ruins of Izalith? Where the Chaos Flame was all but extinguished and the demons themselves all but dying out? She doubted that she would find anything anywhere within this death addled world that could rekindled her faith. But maybe ... just maybe ... she could hold out hope for something.

Maraiam

Maraiam strode through the Demon Ruins, Atarah and Isasi close behind her. It felt so strange to travel with other people, it had been literal ages since she had fought side by side with another. She had been on her own ever since Lord Gwyn linked the First Flame; she and her fellow Silver Knights followed him and that magnificent flame turned them into the Black Knights that they were now. While the other two women were leagues behind the skill and discipline of the Silver Company, both Isasi and Atarah were skillful in their own right.

Maraiam had fought beside Atarah in the past and had witnessed the miracles that the other woman could perform. Maraiam had heard tales of the prowess of the Blades of the Darkmoon, and certainly Atarah was among the most powerful of its members. Still, Maraiam couldn't help but notice something different about the miracles that she cast. The spells seemed weaker, somehow, and Atarah was relying more on her sword as well. Isasi, however, appeared to be at her strongest here. There were few Pyromancers whom had control over the flame as Isasi had, and fewer still who could summon a firestorm as great as she. As if drawing power from this ancient place, Maraiam could almost feel the chaos energy lacing itself into the pyromancer's flame.

Maraiam glanced down at her blackened gauntlet, oaths from long forgotten ages haunting her mind. The same oath she swore when she first joined the ranks of the Silver Knights and the same oath the Silver Company swore when they followed Lord Gwyn into the First Flame. To fight by his side and destroy his enemies so completely that they were wiped from the face of history. She had always prided herself on her loyalty and dedication to Lord Gwyn, carrying out his orders with brutal efficiency. And that was why she was down here, carrying out his order to exterminate the demons born of chaos.

Yet she had been fighting for so long, and not just against demons but against the dragons as well. Yet still, there were literal centuries when she fought against anything that dared to cross her path. She was loyal still, to Lord Gwyn and his orders. She knew she must uphold her oath. Yet now she found herself doubtful and weary of this constant struggle. If she upheld her oath, and saw that the First Flame was linked once again, what would happen to her? Would she once again turn into a mindless monster and roam the lands? Slaughtering all who stood before her?

She clenched her fist, drew her sword and strode through the archway. It would do no good to doubt herself and her mission now. Distractions could prove fatal in any fight and she would not be beaten by mere demons. Yet still, somewhere far back in the corners of her mind, the doubt continued to grow. Perhaps she may find her answers somewhere along this long journey, but for now she would uphold her oath.

Isasi

Isasi stared into the dwindling Flame of Chaos, unable to contain her awe. She had done it! She had finally done what all other pyromancers could not! Here, at the back of the Old Demon King's chamber, resided what remained of the flame. It was stunning the way the flame danced and lapped around the wood which gave it life. Yet it was also sad, that this once magnificent and deadly thing was so weak and nearly gone from the world for all time.

Isasi ignored Maraiam and Atarah as the other women left the chamber. It was better that way, she didn't need the distraction of other people while she studied the flame. Smiling to herself, she crossed her legs and cupped the flame in her hands. It pulsed as if it was a living heart, and perhaps it was. It did, after all, birth all of demonkind. She closed her eyes, and reached out with her magicks, trying to feed and sustain the flame. She could feel it reach out to her in response. If the Flame of Chaos was truly alive, it felt as if it wanted her to learn from it. She could almost make out the whispers at the back of her mind.

At first it was difficult to make out the voices, no doubt it was the souls of the demons screaming out. It was strange that something with so many souls held within it, was so weak. Though, perhaps like any flame, even the Flame of Chaos needed to be rekindled. If that was the case, then what was needed to rekindle the Flame of Chaos? Of course, if it was rekindled, did that mean the demons would regain their strength? Yet Isasi did not care about the demons - she needed to learn all that she could. She couldn't understand the language of demons, although she truly didn't have to.

There was an ancient voice, so faded and muffled that it was barely even a whisper and Isasi wasn't even sure she had heard it at first. That ancient voice called out to her, beckoning her closer and closer until the screams of the demons were no more and only it remained. Instinctively, Isasi knew the owner of the voice, it called out to the flame nestled inside of Isasi's breast like a mother to a child. The presence of this ancient soul enveloped her and opened itself to her. The elder pyromancer nearly wept in joy as her mind was shown ancient secrets of pyromancy that others of her kind had only ever dreamed of.

Isasi knew that this knowledge could not be lost to the ages. Yet she also knew that she herself could not rekindle the Flame of Chaos ... but perhaps she didn't need to. She opened her eyes and gazed down at the Chaos Flame pulsing in her hands. If she could not rekindle it like the Chaos Demons could ... perhaps she could merge it with her own pyromancy flame and sustain it that way. She held the Flame of Chaos close to her chest, amazed as it seemed to merge with her very soul. Part of Isasi knew that she could very easily be overwhelmed by this ancient flame like Izalith so many eons ago ... yet she did not care. Isasi would do anything to ensure that she could continue to learn from the Flame of Chaos.

Fire exploded out of her as she and the Flame of Chaos became one. Isasi returned to her feet, thankful that she was still herself and the flame had not overtaken her soul. The elder pyromancer engulfed her hand in flame, the fire now darker in color as it was laced with the power of chaos. Isasi closed her fist and made her way out of the Demon King's chambers. That ancient voice continued to whisper to her in the back of her mind, joined now by the other souls of demons. Isasi smiled behind her veil, there was still so much left for her to learn.


End file.
